


Until I Am Whole

by sland3rs



Series: Up The Wolves [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Abuse, Anders Negative, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Background Relationships, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fluff and Angst, Gaslighting, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Panic Attacks, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-15 22:14:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15422742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sland3rs/pseuds/sland3rs
Summary: After a particularly bad night with Anders, Hawke seeks comfort with the only person he can trust.Anders negative, present Handers, future Sebhawke. Mind the tags.





	Until I Am Whole

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uyIIf-EOVMQ) song.

Hawke knew it would be a bad night as soon as he returned from drinking at the Hanged Man. He was still a little woozy from the alcohol — Isabela had convinced him to partake in more than his usual — and he knew he was later than Anders liked. It was dangerous, after all, for a single person to walk around Kirkwall at night. And even though Hawke was an accomplished mage, he didn’t look particularly frightening. He was rather short, slim, and he didn’t even like carrying his staff around. 

Still, he had to return to the mansion — not returning would just upset Anders more, make him stay up all night worrying about if something had happened to his lover. So Hawke went up to Hightown, slipped into his mansion, and did his best not to wake anyone as he snuck up to his room. Hawke thought he did a good job — even his faithful mabari, Vic, was fast asleep in front of the fireplace. He slowly pushed his bedroom door open, holding his breath. 

In the room, Anders was there, pacing back and forth, staff strapped to his back. He looked over as Hawke came in.

“There you are.” Anders walked towards Hawke, who stood still and swayed into Anders’s arms. But instead of holding Hawke, Anders kept him at arm’s length, examining him for any injuries or sign of distress. “I thought you would be home an hour ago. What happened?” 

“I’m sorry,” Hawke said, ducking his head in shame. “Isabela wanted to drink more and Varric was telling a very good story—” 

“Maker’s breath, those two are — they’re horrible influences and I’ve told you this before.” Anders shook his head, stepping back crossing his arms. “You said you would be home before dark. You know how dangerous it is for you to be out without someone else. Without _me_ protecting you.”

“I’m sorry,” Hawke repeated, hating how his voice sounded so broken and weak. “I lost track of time, I didn’t mean to upset you.” He hesitated before adding, “I missed you. M-Maybe you could come and d-drink with us—”

“I am working on freeing all our imprisoned brothers and sisters, Thomas. I do not have time — Justice does not allow me to get _drunk_ like some loose Rivani pirate.” Anders let out a heavy sigh before making eye contact with Hawke, who found himself almost frozen in place. “Sometimes I don’t know whether I should kiss you or kill you.” 

Without another word, Anders stepped forward and pushed his way past Hawke. He was already halfway down the stairs before Hawke could move, his brain whirling in circles and heart beating out of his chest.

“Wait,” Hawke cried out, running out of the room and leaning against the banister, “Anders, don’t go. P-Please. I’m sorry, p-please don’t leave.” _Don’t leave me too,_ Hawke thought. He could picture all the other people who had left him, who had died because of Hawke’s mistakes. “I’m sorry, d-don’t leave me alone,” Hawke begged. 

Anders stopped walking, glancing up at Hawke. His eyes, for a split second, flickered blue and Hawke felt his heart freeze. Justice terrified Hawke — especially since the spirit didn’t approve of him and Anders together. But Justice had never attacked Hawke — and Hawke was grateful for that, because he knew he could not defeat Justice in battle — though Anders had occasionally warned that Justice wanted to. 

“I don’t know if I can continue this, Thomas. I am constantly worried for you, but you just run off and ignore my wishes. You act as if — as if you don’t care if you die or not. Or if something happens to me. Have you ever once stopped and thought about how your actions hurt me too?” Anders asked. His eyes were wide, earnest, and Hawke felt his heart drop. 

Because Anders was right, Hawke was selfish and stupid and Anders — Anders deserved better. But he loved Hawke enough to put up with him and Hawke… 

He continued to fail, no matter what he tried. He couldn’t even love someone enough. What did Anders even see in him? 

“P-Please,” Hawke begged, blinking tears furiously out of his eyes. His knuckles were white as he held onto the banister, certain that if he let go he’d fall to his knees. “Don’t leave me, Anders. I need you.” 

It was like someone had flipped a switch. Anders’s features softened and he quickly ascended the stairs, wrapping Hawke up in his arms. Hawke clung to him, crying openly as he buried his head in Anders’s chest. With Anders’s comforting presence, his soft murmurs and promises that he would never leave, that he was sorry, Hawke felt himself finally start to breathe again. 

“I’m sorry,” Hawke mumbled over and over, “I’m sorry.” 

He didn’t protest as Anders led him to the bedroom, as Anders sat him on the bed and kissed him, and he didn’t say a word as Anders shed their clothes and showed Hawke just how he felt.

Hawke lay there, after, feeling the stinging pain on his shoulder from bites and the dull throb from the bruises on his hips. He felt cold despite the blanket pulled up to his waist and the warm body behind him. Anders was already falling asleep, an arm resting over Hawke’s chest. His hand was kept away from Hawke’s horrific stomach scars, the remnants of the duel against the Arishok. 

Despite being surrounded by Anders’s presence, their relationship reaffirmed, echoes of Anders murmuring _you’re mine, you're mine_ running through Hawke’s head, Hawke couldn't help but feel… sad. As if he was missing someone or something. He felt the gross stickiness between his legs and suddenly he knew he had to leave, to get out of there. He slowly shifted until he was out of Anders’s grasp, trying not to disturb him. 

“Where…?” Anders asked, raising his head. 

“Just going to clean up,” Hawke said. He took one of Anders’s hands and kissed the knuckles. “Go back to sleep. I love you.” 

“Love you.” Anders rolled over, tugging the sheets over his bare skin. 

Hawke shivered as he went to the bathroom, careful not to spill water as he used a rag to clean himself off. He was trembling and too nervous to fill the bath itself, but he ran cold water over his skin in hopes of feeling — feeling clean. It was dark and he could have given himself light or warmed the water, but he was too scared of his magic backfiring. He wasn't selfish enough to bother Anders, not so soon after a fight. Besides, such a frivolous use of magic… it didn't sit well with him, no matter what Anders said. 

It took Hawke’s full attention not to drop the rag as he dipped it between his legs and then between the cheeks of his ass. He was tender and he winced, biting down on his lip to stop himself from making more noise. Hawke worked efficiently, scared of staying away too long, but he didn't realize he was shaking until he dropped the rag on the floor and couldn't pick it up. 

He felt his throat struggle to open, to breathe, and he couldn't stand still. Even though he knew he had to return to Anders, he didn't want to — he was scared of upsetting him further, of doing something wrong and being punished. Even if he deserved the punishment, he was too much of a coward to suffer it. 

Hawke moved quickly. He threw on old robes, put his softest boots on, and penned a letter before sticking it under the door to the bedroom. 

_Emergency. Sorry. I'll be back tomorrow morning._

Without pause, not wanting to stop and think about how irrational he was acting, Hawke left the mansion. 

#

Hawke didn't pay attention to where he was going until he was already at the steps of the Chantry. He stared up at the tall doors, the imposing statues, and froze. Was the Chantry even open so late? Why had his subconscious brought him here instead of the little bench where he found comfort and safety in all his other times of grief? 

_If you want to talk about anything, I am here,_ Sebastian had said not a month ago. And when Hawke had asked him for help lighting candles for his family, Sebastian was so gentle and kind… Like he actually cared about Hawke. Nothing at all like Anders had warned Hawke about. Sebastian hadn't tried converting Hawke or turned him into the Templars. In fact, they had gotten along well. Sebastian had been so wonderful, so kind… 

Hawke still didn't move. He was too nervous, certain that he would be a bother. He didn't want to push Sebastian, didn't want to lose his friendship. 

He had just summoned up enough energy to leave, to return to the mansion and hope that Anders hadn't found the note, when the Chantry doors opened. Hawke froze, too scared to turn around but unable to move. 

“Hawke? Sister Amelia was right, it is you.” It was a familiar voice, the Starkhaven accent impossible to mistake for another. Hawke was convinced he could recognize Sebastian’s specific drawl anywhere. “What are you doing out here?” 

Slowly, Hawke turned around. “I… Sebastian…” Suddenly, he didn't know what to say. Anything would seem like complaining, like he was an ungrateful bastard — and honestly, that was the truth. Hawke should appreciate Anders more, he just… didn't. 

“Come inside,” Sebastian said, opening the door fully. He was wearing simple sleep robes, his feet clad only in slippers. Hawke felt a stab of guilt when he glanced up and saw blue eyes clouded with sleep. 

“I — no, I apologize. I did not mean for you to be disturbed. I — it can wait,” Hawke insisted. 

“Hawke, please. You are not disturbing me. I was merely preparing for sleep after my last prayer.” Even though Hawke was certain he was lying, Sebastian’s warm smile was all the argument Hawke needed to see. There was something about Sebastian that made it impossible to refuse him. Hawke nodded. “Follow me. We can sit and have privacy in my chamber.” 

Sebastian led Hawke through the Chantry, to the back rooms that he had never been in before. It was a quick walk, after that, to Sebastian’s own room. 

Hawke always knew Sebastian lived at the Chantry, but he had never been to his quarters. They were simple enough. A small bed, a plain desk, a chair, a wardrobe, and a window just large enough to let in a few slivers of moonlight. There was a copy of the Chant on the desk as well as a few letters. In the corner was a stand for Sebastian’s armor with a familiar quiver of arrows hanging over it. Sebastian’s bow was unstrung and set aside in the corner where no one would accidentally step on it. 

It was so perfectly Sebastian that Hawke took a moment to just _experience_ it, breathing in and running his hands over his arms as a shiver ran up his spine. Sebastian moved quickly, lighting enough candles so they could see before sitting at his desk. He motioned for Hawke to sit on the bed but Hawke’s entire being revolted at the idea. He shook his head instead, sitting on the floor at Sebastian’s feet. 

“Sorry,” Hawke mumbled. 

“It is all right, Hawke. You have nothing to apologize for.” Sebastian gave him another one of his warm smiles. “Is it all right if I sit with you?” 

“You don't have to,” Hawke replied. 

Sebastian shrugged and grabbed his blanket off the bed, laying it down on the stone floor before sitting. There was enough room for a second person and Sebastian glanced at Hawke, obviously intending for him to use it. With no reason not to, and his stomach no longer protesting every movement with a violent twist, Hawke sat a little closer to Sebastian. The blanket was soft enough to make the floor a little nicer, but Hawke still felt guilty about putting Sebastian through this. 

“I should — I should go,” he said, even though he made no move to get up. 

“I think you are in no condition to go anywhere,” Sebastian murmured. “You look ill, my friend. Are you sure that you don’t need anything?” 

Hawke shook his head and rubbed his eyes. They felt tender, the way they always did before he cried. He _hated_ crying, hated crying in front of people even more. The only person who he felt comfortable doing that around was Vic, his mabari. 

“I was reciting part of the Chant before sleep. Would you like to join me? I find that it brings me great comfort,” Sebastian offered. It was not the first time he suggested they turn to the Chant and some part of Hawke doubted it would be the last. 

And while Hawke did find it comforting to hear Sebastian’s voice, the confidence and certainty manifesting like a warm bath or a soft pillow, Hawke shook his head. 

“I am afraid you know far more of the Chant than I do, Sebastian. I would only embarrass myself.” 

“Ah, but you forget that I have just the right thing to help.” Sebastian stood and retrieved the copy of the Chant from his desk. It was thick and the pages old, but Hawke could see that it was well-loved by the repairs and subtle fixes that donned every page. He set it carefully on the blanket in front of the two of them and flipped it to Transfigurations. 

Hawke bit his lip and squinted at the page. It felt odd, almost, to read the Chant instead of hearing it — and hearing it from anyone but Sebastian felt strange enough — but despite the age of the book it was easy to make out the words. Sebastian shifted so he was right next to Hawke, their shoulders touching. Hawke felt small most of the time — and he certainly was smaller than Sebastian — but for once he didn't shy away from physical touch. He didn't lean into it, but he was content to feel Sebastian’s warmth through the robes both of them had donned. 

“O Maker, hear my cry,” Sebastian began, each word slowly and methodical. He was not singing per say, but he wasn't just talking either. Hawke swallowed and whispered the words, wanting to hear Sebastian speak more than he wished for the Maker to notice him. 

“Guide me through the blackest nights. Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked. Make me rest in the warmest places.” When he recited the Chant, Sebastian’s accent grew more pronounced. His brow furrowed and Hawke felt a sudden compulsion to smooth the wrinkles and bring Sebastian peace. 

But Hawke’s hands remained at his side's, his tongue slowly forming the words, his mind more focused on the man besides him than anything else. 

“O Creator, see me kneel.” Sebastian paused and cleared his throat. He glanced at Hawke who blushed and threw himself into the Chant with more gusto than before. 

“For I walk only where You would bid me. Stand only in places You have blessed. Sing only the words You place in my throat.” 

_Anders will be furious,_ Hawke thought, a shiver running down his spine. _Only if he finds out,_ a traitorous part of his mind whispered. 

“My Maker, know my heart: T-take from me life of sorrow. Lift me from a — a world of p-pain. Judge me w-worthy of Your endless—” Hawke’s voice broke and he muffled a sob. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, curling in on himself as if that could help block the sudden burst of pain and sadness that ran over him like the torrents of a river breaking free from the last winter frost. 

“Hawke?” Sebastian turned towards him, hands hovering over Hawke, unsure whether touch would help or hinder. After a moment’s hesitation, Sebastian placed a hand on Hawke’s back and rubbed small circles there. Hawke couldn’t feel Sebastian’s skin, but he could feel the warmth. “Maker, my enemies are abundant. Many are those who rise up against me. But my faith sustains me…” Sebastian’s voice was warm and gentle, comforting Hawke even as he shook. There was no judgement, no distaste. Sebastian didn’t seem to be angry that Hawke was crying on his floor, didn’t seem upset that Hawke couldn’t get through even part of the Chant. 

Sebastian just continued to murmur lines of the Chant, to stay there near Hawke, to acknowledge him and comfort him even though Hawke had done nothing to deserve his help. Hawke didn’t know why Sebastian was so kind, why Sebastian tolerated him not to mention cared for him and enjoyed being Hawke’s friend. It was — it was different than what a lifetime of isolation had ever taught Hawke. 

People only used people. There were few who thought of anyone other than themself. 

“You have walked beside me, down the paths where a thousand arrows sought my flesh. You have stood with me when all others have forsaken me,” Sebastian continued, his focus on Hawke. His hand spread warmth through Hawke’s body until Hawke was powerless to do anything other than lean against Sebastian, his tears drying but his body still shaking and his mind spiraling. 

Sebastian shifted and Hawke whimpered, one hand reaching out and groping for something, someone, to grab onto. He barely realized what he was doing as he took Sebastian’s hand and held it tight, not pulling it closer but refusing to let go. 

“What happened to you, my friend?” Sebastian asked softly. 

Hawke shook his head. He couldn’t say — couldn’t explain why he felt so distraught. It was wrong. It went against everything Anders had told him, everything his entire life had drilled into him. Hawke knew he should be grateful for every scrap of affection and yet here Sebastian was, offering his comforting presence without asking for a thing in return. 

And here Hawke was, feeling sick to his stomach at the idea of returning to Anders even though Anders was the first person to ever love him for who he was — a filthy, dangerous mage. 

“Did Anders hurt you?” Sebastian sounded — he sounded angry. Hawke curled up a little more, trying to make himself smaller, trying to disappear. “I’m not mad at you, Hawke. But if something happened—” Sebastian took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I am here for you, Hawke. If you need anything, at any moment, I am here.”

“I don’t deserve your help,” Hawke confessed. 

“You are my friend. It is offered freely and without expectations. Besides, you helped me with the Harimanns and you help Kirkwall daily. You are one of the few good people in this city,” Sebastian insisted. 

“No I’m not,” Hawke replied. He began to uncurl himself, rubbing at his eyes and trying to hide the evidence of his breakdown. 

“You are,” Sebastian promised. He slowly reached forward and brushed the tears from Hawke’s face and used his own handkerchief to clean the snot from Hawke’s nose. Hawke wanted to protest, but he couldn’t talk. Sebastian’s blue eyes met his and Hawke was frozen, but in a good way. He felt limp, comfortable letting Sebastian do what he wished. 

_I wish Sebastian — no._ Hawke tensed and Sebastian stopped. 

“My apologies,” he murmured, pulling his hand back. “I should have asked first.”

“It’s fine.” Hawke’s voice came out rough, like he had swallowed glass. He swallowed and licked his lips. “Can… Can I stay here?” He asked. 

Sebastian’s eyes widened before he nodded. “Of course. Do you want to borrow some robes—” 

Hawke shook his head, glancing around the room. It was not particularly comfortable, but it was still more appealing than walking back to the mansion. Now that he was more aware of his body, he could feel a familiar dull throb in his lower body and his neck felt sore. 

“Just… Perhaps a pillow?” Hawke saw the look Sebastian gave him and quickly clarified, “I do not mean yours, but just something to put under my head.” 

Sebastian frowned. “Hawke, do you think you’re sleeping on the floor?”

Hawke wasn’t sure how he was supposed to respond so he took a gamble and nodded. Sebastian’s frown deeped and before Hawke could apologize, Sebastian stood and pulled Hawke to his feet. Hawke was certain that Sebastian was about to throw him out in disgust but instead Sebastian just turned them and gently pushed Hawke onto the bed. 

It wasn’t a nice bed, but it was soft and smelled faintly of Chantry herbs and candlewax and the oil Sebastian used to keep his bow in good condition. Hawke was fairly certain he had never left the mansion, that this was a dream and a desire demon was due to appear and offer him something in exchange for his soul.

“You are small enough, my friend. There is room for two.” Sebastian gave him a warm smile.

Still fearing a demon, Hawke said nothing as he shuffled over to the far side of the bed. He waited for Sebastian to join him before curling up as small as he could, his back to Sebastian and eyes squeezed closed. The blankets were thin but there were many of them and Hawke found that he enjoyed it much more than the single thick cover back in the mansion. 

His eyes flew open as something soft nudged the back of his head. Hawke glanced over and saw Sebastian offering him the pillow. Something caught in Hawke’s throat and he shook his head. 

“We can share,” Sebastian said. 

_You’re mine, you’re mine._

__

__

_No one will love you like I do._

_I don’t know whether I should kiss you or kill you._

Hawke flinched. Sebastian frowned and seemed to accept that this was not something worth pursuing. He fell silent and soon his breathing evened out into that of someone in sleep. Hawke didn’t notice because he was asleep even sooner, lulled into a dreamless night, comforted by being with someone he could trust.


End file.
